


Learning to Breathe

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: KINK: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you need help catching your breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** D/s  
>  **Disclaimer:** The following is nothing but lies. Lies, I tell you. Which really fucking sucks.  
>  **AN:** If you're looking for bondage games... look elsewhere.
> 
> *smooches* to Red and SunShinyDay for the prereading!!!

His skin is too tight, squeezing him in all the wrong places and in all the wrong ways. He needs to let go, to simply catch his breath and _breathe_.

But he can't. Not here on a tour bus where there is no such thing as privacy. Not when the music he usually loses himself in is part of the reason he's drowning. And not when every stop of the bus brings another round of fans, all clamoring for attention and touches and pictures.

He's tired and jittery and just fucking _tired_. But sleep doesn't come easy anymore because the tired is a bone-aching physical exhaustion that does nothing to slow his mind, to stop the loop of wondering what his friends are doing, how his mom is, whether or not he'll ever be able to have a fucking beer in a bar without someone pointing to him and snapping his picture ever again. He ponders things like the next stop and the international leg and how the sound surely can't be as fucked as it was in where-the-hell-ever it was.

That's when Tommy realizes that somewhere in this paradise of living his dream, he lost himself. That the road is a harsh place to be and that the thrill of the stage wears off eventually and that, really, the peace he finds in an hour-long set only carries over for so fucking long. Then his skin tightens its grip and he just wants to run away to anywhere that's not here.

He slides off his bunk and stumbles into where the television is and hopes to fuck there is something boring enough on the tube to lull his brain into shutting off. Instead he finds Adam sprawled out on the most uncomfortable sofa on the planet, eyes staring aimlessly and mouth closed as his fingers drum off-beat to the music spilling tinny and low from his headphones.

Adam grins when he sees Tommy and twists, pushing in against the back of the sofa. He pats the empty space and looks expectantly at Tommy. With a shake of his head, Tommy slides onto the couch and aligns himself along Adam's side.

And his thoughts slow down and he thinks, that maybe, yeah, he'll finally drift off. Except he doesn't.

The peace lasts only for a few seconds and then his brain is whirring around again and he's fidgeting and restless and all he wants is for it to stop. Goddammit.

"Be still, Tommy Joe." The words are accompanied by an arm and a leg dropping heavily over Tommy's side.

Tommy's first instinct is to pull away, to fight against the weight of Adam's hold. He needs to breathe, and he wants to say, to scream that adding to the pressure bearing down on him is not helping. Not helping at all. A soft whimper bubbles out in place of the words tumbling through Tommy's head.

"Breathe with me," Adam murmurs. "Be still and follow my lead."

Minutes tick off, Tommy struggling to do what Adam asked. Working to first find the steady rhythm of Adam's breaths and then to match them, he focuses completely on Adam. And then, between one breath and the next, Tommy's eyes flutter shut and he sleeps.

* * *

  
Tommy is loose-limbed and pliant, feeding into the energy of the show with an ease that left him weeks ago. He moves around the stage confident, teasing Adam and playing the crowd. He winks at Brooke when she drapes herself over his shoulder, licks his lips and flirts when Terrance dances too close.

He's playful and happy and it spills from the show to the signing and then to the bus as they pull out and mark the miles to the next show.

It lasts for days. Almost a week of being carefree and fun and limber in his skin.

Then the noose starts to gag him again, cutting off his airway and making him work for each stuttered breath. And he's right back to where he was, restless and wanting and tired.

He feels Adam watching him throughout the performance. Even when Adam is usually in the middle of an eyefuck with the crowd, tonight his gaze is settled on Tommy. Possessive and concerned and _there_.

The almost tangible caress is a comfort to Tommy. It carries him through the encore and the signing after.

On the bus it's Adam's hand at the back of his neck, fingers stroking through shaved hair and scratching along Tommy's scalp. Tommy sags against the couch and lets the easy touch ground him for the short bus ride to the next stop – not long enough to get comfortable but too long to sit still after a performance – and up to his room.

But then he's on his own, pacing and floundering in another generic room, in another generic town. He flips on the television, surfs through the premium channels, looks at the list of porn, and then settles for a late night infomercial explaining why he just can't possibly live without this greatest of cleaning inventions.

Even that isn't enough to put him to sleep.

In a last ditch effort to stop the overwhelming crush of the world around him, he pulls out his phone and tweets the first set of lyrics that springs to mind. It will, if nothing else, give him a few @replies to troll through.

When his phones buzzes to life with a text, he jumps, startled out of the fog creeping in around his brain.

 _Come to my room. We can be up together._

Tommy grins and, making sure he has his phone, his laptop, and his key, walks the few feet to Adam's room.

* * *

  
He recognizes Adam's disheveled state – and the sleep pants slung low on Adam's hips – immediately. "You weren't awake."

"Was in and out and then you tweeted," Adam shrugs and points to his phone.

"Look, man," Tommy starts backing towards the door, "you should just turn that damn thing off and get some sleep."

Bracing a hand against the door, Adam leans in close, uses the door and his body to box Tommy in. With a pointed look at Tommy's pajama pants and worn t-shirt, Adam says, "Or you can get your skinny ass in that bed and we both can get some sleep."

Tommy falters, words and movements jerking between climbing into Adam's bed and running back to his own room. "Huh?"

"Stop over-thinking it and get in the damn bed."

"I don't want to keep you up."

Adam smirks and drops his hand from the door to the back of Tommy's neck – tighter and more possessive than earlier on the bus – and leads him over to the bed. "You won't."

They settle in on their sides, Tommy's back against Adam's chest. His head is pillowed on one of Adam's arms and his body is held tight by an arm and a leg, Adam wrapping himself around Tommy like a sad, misshapen octopus.

It's so similar to the night on the bus that Tommy relaxes immediately, focuses on the rise and fall of Adam's chest against his back and synchronizes their breathing. And then he waits for sleep to overtake him.

But sleep doesn't come. Where the couch on the bus is small, hardly big enough for one of them much less the both of them, and demanded Tommy keep still, the bed is _big_. It leaves room for Tommy to move – little flexes of fingers and toes, minute jerks of his arms and legs – despite the unforgiving hold Adam has him in.

"Tommy Joe," Adam growls.

And then, before Tommy can utter a retort, Adam rolls and catches Tommy beneath him. Adam nestles his dick, half-hard and growing more interested by the second, in the cleft of Tommy's ass, presses his thighs along the outside of Tommy's, and uses his arms, elbows pushing into the mattress, to bracket Tommy's head.

Tommy bucks up once. At least he tries to. "Let me go."

"Not a fucking chance." Adam tightens down, letting more of his weight push Tommy deeper into the bed.

Tommy grunts, and attempts to gain an inch of wiggle room. "Come on, Adam."

"Shush, baby. Just listen," Adam whispers, lips brushing against Tommy's ear with every word. "Concentrate on me. Do you hear me?"

Tommy stills completely, does his best to just relax into the bed. "Yeah, I hear you."

"Good boy." Adam slips his arms beneath Tommy's shoulders, pillowing them under Tommy's head, and, as Tommy lets himself sink into the restraint, Adam falls in closer to Tommy. "Now, breathe, in and..." Adam matches the words to the action "...out."

Tommy watches the minutes on the clock click over – 4:52... 4:53... 4:54... – and breathes, slow and steady and in time with Adam.

"Close your eyes, Tommy Joe."

He closes his eyes and then, before the clock rolls another minute, blinks them open again. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can." Adam places a gentle kiss on Tommy's temple. "Let me carry it. Just close your eyes, baby, and feel me."

Tommy closes his eyes again and this time spends his energy on Adam. On the warmth and the heartbeat and the way Adam's fingers are brushing over his cheek, sending little shockwaves through Tommy that have him skirting the edge of arousal.

And within the heated cocoon that Adam creates, the crazy grip from within breaks and Tommy falls asleep.

* * *

  
"What the hell did you get into last night, man?"

Tommy looks at Monte with the blank face he usually saves for fans with cameras. "Don't know what you mean."

"You were tight as a spring last night and now," Monte frowns and shakes his head. "Now it's just flowing out of you."

"Whatever, dude." Tommy gently sets his bass in the stand and starts to walk off – _escape_ – under the guise of grabbing food or water or, even better, a cold fucking beer. He needs time to think, time away from Monte and LP and Cam. And most especially away from Adam.

Logically he knows that Monte is right. Everything sounds different today. Everything _feels_ different today. And the only thing that happened last night was Adam. Not that he even understands what the fuck is going on there.

It's not like they're fucking. And Tommy's much publicized 'straight' has nothing to do with that. It's more along the lines that they both agreed it has to be more than a fuck for fuck's sake because there is way too much at stake if it explodes.

Tommy just doesn't know how sleeping – literally _sleeping_ – with Adam holding him down twists the whole boss-friend- _not_ lover arrangement. Or why the fuck it seems to work so well.

"Hey." Adam says, bumping shoulders and leaning against the wall beside Tommy. "You okay?"

Tommy snorts. "Better than, if you listen to Monte."

"Yeah, well, I'm not talking about sound check and Monte's pearls of wisdom." Adam nudges Tommy again. "Not feeling suffocated still?"

"Suffocated, huh?" For just a second Tommy wonders when Adam started reading him so well. "Nah, not even a little choked."

"Good." Adam looks down and, much to Tommy's amusement, a light blush steals over Adam's cheeks, "It's not just you. Those nights? They've been..."

Then a third voice echoes around them. "Time for real work, Diva Boy."

Adam looks up and frowns. "I'm gonna kill him one day."

Tommy laughs, stilted and forced because he's kind of relieved they got cut off and kind of pissed about it too. "I think your mom would be a little ticked if you kill her baby boy."

"That alone is what has saved his ass for years." Adam brushes a chaste kiss against Tommy's forehead. "Look, we need to..."

"Talk." Tommy pushes to stand. "Yeah, we do."

Between sound check and the performance, Tommy feels the tension start to coil again, hot and blinding and rolling beneath his skin, stealing his breaths in little, tiny increments.

* * *

  
Terrance tweets before the buses fire up: _GLAMPIRES! True Blood night!_

A perfect excuse for Tommy to be missing from his usual bus. Because he has to have an excuse. The fans, they've learned, are ninjas. They're fucking aces at coming up with pics and vids and _ideas_ when, logically, they just shouldn't be able to. If it wasn't him they were stalking, Tommy would be impressed.

Dropping to the floor in front of Adam, Tommy tilts his head back, resting it on Adam's knee, and closes his eyes. When Adam's fingers drag through his hair, he draws in a deep breath and sighs.

"Go change, Tommy Joe." Adam's voice ghosts low next to his ear.

"'M stuff's on the other bus." And there is no way in hell he's moving. Not right now, not as long as those fingers keep digging gently into his scalp.

Adam tugs on a length of Tommy's hair. "Sleep pants are in my bag. Go change."

Tommy gives Adam the expected glare, lacking the heat and the turn of lips that would make it real. "Right now?"

"Go," and Adam pushes Tommy's shoulder until Tommy rolls to his feet and stomps his way to the back of the bus. The glare creeps closer to real with every footfall because, dammit, he really was fucking comfortable.

Then Tommy is slipping on Adam's sleep pants – a mile too big and all the more comfortable for it – and one of Adam's favorite tees – payback for making Tommy get up to begin with – and then, grabbing a pillow from Adam's bed, Tommy walks back to the front of the bus with a contented smile curling the edges of his lips.

"Better, right?"

He sticks his tongue out at Adam in answer. Then, pillow mushed between his back and the couch, Tommy reclaims his spot between Adam's legs and dozes in and out through three episodes of True Blood.

In the back of his mind, Tommy recognizes the flashes of bright lights through the blinds that mean truck stop and snack run and time to change buses and find his bunk, but he ignores it all and buries his face against Adam's thigh, pushing his head up into Adam's hand.

Allison says something about waking him up and then Terrance is laughing and muttering something about Adam not letting that happen. And, really, Tommy wonders, who the fuck is Adam to decide what happens anyway?

The thought is enough to stir Tommy into blinking his eyes open and arching his back into a much needed stretch. "Time for the move?"

Adam's fingers curl tightly in his hair. The sting relaxes into an inexplicable warmth. "Stay put, Tommy Joe."

"Huh?" He's not awake enough for whatever is going on. "My bunk..."

"You're fine right where you are."

Tommy grunts and tries to stand again. His back is not in agreement with staying right where he is. "I can't sleep on the floor."

"No one said anything about a floor." Adam uses his grip to tilt Tommy's head back. "Go get in the bed."

"Huh?"

"The bed." Adam drops his hand from Tommy's hair and motions towards the back end of the bus. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Yeah, 'kay." Tommy picks up the pillow and stumbles into Adam's little domain. He falls face forward into Adam's bed and inhales. "This works."

* * *

  
Tommy is awake by the time Adam slides into the bed. The rumble of the bus engine, the sound of the opening and closing, the goodbyes and good nights, all lead to Tommy being wide awake and fidgety. "Maybe I should've gone..."

Adam arches a brow. "Are we gonna through this every night?"

"Since when did this become an every night thing?" Tommy's pretty sure he'd have remembered that conversation. And then he adds, "It's totally gonna put a crimp in your getting laid."

"And maybe it won't." Adam pulls Tommy in tight against him, back to chest with his arms and legs looped around Tommy in a weird, movable form of bondage. "Now, are we going to sleep or am I gonna have to gag you too?"

"Jesus Christ..."

"Tommy Joe, Tommy Joe." Adam covers Tommy's mouth with a hand until Tommy stops talking and closes his mouth. "We are so gonna talk about all this. Tomorrow."

Then Adam shifts until he is fitted over Tommy's side. Tommy is pressed tight into the mattress, caught between wrinkled sheets and Adam's unwavering hold.

"Say g'night, Tommy."

Tommy tries to nip Adam's fingers and then, laughing, says, "G'night, Tommy."

He falls asleep with Adam's breath ghosting the back of his neck, missing the whispered promise of, "That's it, pretty boy. Just let me handle it."

* * *

  
Tommy wakes up early. He's relaxed and refreshed and horny as hell. It's been too long since he's felt any of this so completely, much less all three at the same time. Grinning, he worms his hand beneath the loose waist of his pants and wraps his fingers around his dick.

He's got to get out of Adam's bed _right now_. A few minutes in the tiny bus bathroom – because there is no way he's going to last more than a few minutes – is his first priority of the morning.

Slowly he starts working his way out of Adam's grasp. So he thinks.

Just before Tommy breaks loose, Adam's arms tighten. "Stop all that wiggling or so help me, Tommy Joe, I'm gonna fuck you through to the floor."

Interest moves through Tommy at a rapid pace. It starts at the base of his neck and ripples through his muscles, raises goosebumps over his arms and chest. "Is that a bonus of sleeping with you last night or we finally talking for real?"

"Thought we agreed that it would never be just a bonus." Adam bites the back of Tommy's neck and then slides off to the left, sitting up with his feet dangling over the edge of the bed. "Come on. Let's get some coffee, see if there's somewhere we can get lost for a couple of hours."

Tommy nods once and retreats to the tiny bathroom – meaning a toilet and sink – for nothing more than a piss and to wash his face. The prospect of talking with Adam is daunting and exciting and a definite mood killer. He's not sure how pissed he is or should be by that last one. But when he comes back into the bedroom, such that it is, and sees the coffee pot from the kitchenette plugged in and brewing, he's quick to forgive the early morning cockblock.

"You stole the coffee pot."

Adam shrugs. "We're sitting outside the venue. The only privacy we're gonna get is if we stay in here."

With a wince, Tommy crawls back into the bed, propping his back against the wall. "Did you grab food?"

"Just some fruit and stuff." Adam motions towards a bowl filled with pineapple chunks and strawberries and a plate of cheese cubes. "Didn't want to wake everyone else up yet."

With Adam feeding them both – one bite to Tommy and then one for himself – they eat and have coffee, neither saying more than _open up_ and _thank you_ and _pass the sugar, please_.

And then, food gone and coffee refilled, Tommy says, "So..."

"Yeah," Adam murmurs.

"What's..." Tommy drags a hand through his hair. "I don't even know where to start."

Adam's lips quirk into a grin. "With what you need."

"Huh?"

"It's where the conversation always starts in my head." Adam cuts a quick look at Tommy and then drops his eyes to coffee again. "I see what you need – a safe zone, an anchor, a way to get out of your head, room to be Tommy Joe and not necessarily Tommy Ratliff, someone stable and affectionate and yours – and I ask myself if I can be those things."

"You already are."

"Not completely but I kinda figure I could be." Adam gives a half shrug of his shoulders and shakes his head. "Still not sure that you've figured it out."

"What? That you're the one who helps?" Tommy sets his coffee to the side and inches closer to Adam. "The only one that grounds me when the crazy starts spinning out of control?"

"Do you know why, though?" Adam traces a random pattern over the back of Tommy's hand. "There's a reason it's me."

"Explain it."

Adam pushes off the bed and, leaning against the wall, peeks through the slats in the blind. "Why can I ground you? You tell me."

Tommy's brow furrows. "I dunno. Because you know me, you know what I'm thinking without me saying anything."

"I pay attention. I watch you. A fucking lot. But I'm not the only one." Adam turns around and stares at Tommy. "Do you trust me?"

"Yeah, man." The confusion is evident in Tommy's voice. "I trust you."

"How much?"

"I _trust_ you." Tommy scoots to the edge of the bed, puts his feet flat on the floor and drops his elbows to his knees, his head bowed low. This is not going how he'd thought it would. It feels like way more is at play than he understands. "What'd you mean, how much?"

"Enough to not wonder when I go to clubs for PR? To let me cut your hair or do your make-up? Order dinner for both of us?" Adam steps closer to Tommy, drops to a crouch in front of him and ducks his head, looking Tommy directly in the eyes. "Enough to give up control?"

Tommy's eyes widen on the last one.

"How much, Tommy Joe?"

* * *

  
Tommy sits in the third row, feet kicked up on the seatback in front of him. He watches Adam finish off the sound check with Monte, his mind filled damn near to overflowing with their conversation from earlier.

 _"What the fuck does control have to do with it?"_

 _"Exactly what do you think has been happening between us?" Adam reaches out and circles Tommy's wrists with his fingers. It's the same thing he does at night to get Tommy to stop drumming. "Think about it, Tommy. Really think about it."_

 _"But, I'm not... I've never..."_

 _"You have been."_

Tommy thought about it. All through the early afternoon and right into sound check. And, Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch, he finally realizes that, as much as he'd argued otherwise, Adam is right.

He is.

They have been.

And it feels right and wrong and so goddamn confusing all at the same fucking time.

* * *

  
"You're right," Tommy says, following Adam into his bedroom. "But I don't know why because, yeah, I'm like the most controlling fucker I know. Well, behind you."

Adam snorts. "You are that. Almost to the point of OCD with some things."

His bass. He knows exactly what Adam is talking about on that. "So why – " Tommy throws a hand up and waves it back and forth " – this?"

"You need it."

"Why don't you?" Tommy snaps. "Why am I the only one spinning out?"

"You're not, baby. We all have different ways of dealing." Adam pulls Tommy into a hug. "You, I can help. And it can be so much more than just crashing together at night. If you want it."

Tommy wraps his arms tight around Adam's waist, burrows his face against Adam's chest. Through the layers of clothes, he mumbles, "And what do you get out of all of this?"

"You," Adam whispers into Tommy's hair. "I get you."

* * *

  
Nothing really changes, except, really, _everything_ changes.

They talk – a lot – about limits and experience and, holy fuck, Tommy has a safeword now. It seems that there's always been a little bit of a power thing in Tommy's relationships, not that he even recognized it for what it was. Which totally, as far as Tommy is concerned, explains the multitude of crash-and-burns that define his sex life.

Tommy's overblown self-consciousness fades as soon as he realizes that Adam isn't going to turn into some bossy, do it my way tyrant. Well, no more than Adam has always been.

And then he just kind of sinks into this new-but-old thing with Adam.

A routine gets established, something personal and theirs that blends in with the whole like it's always been there. Even when the others are around – watching a movie or some show or playing cards and shooting the shit – there is a routine. A ton of little tiny things that alone are silly or odd or plain stupid but when you put them all together they act like tethers, invisible strings that keep Tommy grounded even when Adam isn't right there beside him.

Things like wearing Adam's sleep pants – which Tommy would bitch about but they're freaking ass comfortable – and eating breakfast in bed with Adam – and just letting Adam feed him, which is strange and nice and totally sets Tommy's frame of mind for the rest of the day – and switching out one of his silver hoops with Adam's so he has something solid he can feel, can just reach up and _touch_ if... when the pressure builds too fast for Tommy to take a single, calming breath.

Tethers, every single of them. Invisible but so very real and weighted and theirs. And as fucked up as Tommy finds it, the closer Adam keeps him, the tighter his hold gets, the easier Tommy finds it to breathe and enjoy this moment: the tour, the glam, the fucking craziness of Adam's climb from Idol runner-up to Adam _Fucking_ Lambert.

It becomes easy and familiar. Almost like it's always been this way.

But it's also so damned frustrating. Because Adam insists on taking things slow, insists on letting everything play out naturally. Tommy agrees. Most of the time. Except when he doesn't. Like now, on the mornings when he wakes up hard and aching and just fucking _wanting_ and Adam doesn't let it go further than them kissing and touching and rubbing off against each other.

Tommy snaps and snarls and pushes against the confines that Adam has them bound in, demands answers where he usually just rolls with it all. Towel wrapped around his waist, hair sticking up every which-a-way, Tommy frowns. "Why won't you fuck me?"

Adam arches a brow. "Is that what you're pouting over?"

"Not pouting." Tommy ignores the snort that one earns. "You do realize I'm not some blushing virgin, right?"

Adam taps Tommy's lips with a piece of banana, waiting until Tommy opens up and accepts the bite before answering. "I know that you have experience. I also know that none of it's with what we're doing."

Tommy swallows the banana and says, "Huh?"

Holding up a finger, Adam finishes his bite of fruit and then, feeding a strawberry to Tommy, says, "Instead of ignoring the fact that there's a power dynamic, we're... exploiting it. Means you have to have time to learn and acclimate and _settle_."

The indignation bleeds right out of Tommy, leaving him floundering between appreciating just how committed Adam is and hating just how committed Adam is. Like everything else in his life right now, this is another double-edged sword. "Yeah, okay."

"We'll get there, Tommy Joe." Adam promises and then sets the empty bowl aside. "We got a couple of hours 'til check out. Wanna ignore everyone and watch a movie? Something we haven't seen a million and one times already?"

* * *

  
The crowd is pushing against the fence, loud and obnoxious and rude with each other. Tommy doesn't know who he needs to thank for the fence but _someone_ is a fucking genius. Because where there's usually only one or two rabid fans, this is like a fucking madhouse of pushing and shoving and, good fuck... Tommy jumps back, out of reach when a hand snakes through the chainlink and tries – comes close – to curling around his wrist.

"Easy, baby," Adam whispers, suddenly close and pressed against Tommy's back and _there_. "Let's get this done and get on the bus. 'Kay?"

Somehow Tommy mutters a _yeah_ in return even if all he wants to really say is _what the actual fuck?_

Sasha and Terrance come up on his left, Monte steps close on the other side of Adam. All of them hiding a glimmer of _holy fucking Christ_ in their eyes. Knowing it isn't just him helps Tommy, gives him the push to sign and pose and pout with the less crazy of the fans.

Twenty minutes – minutes that feel like hours – and they're all heading for the bus, actually thankful that their hotel isn't in this town.

Sasha is tweeting about rude fans and how they need to back off before the door shuts behind Tommy.

"That was fucked." Terrance drops into the first available seat.

Tommy grunts his agreement and shuffles to the back of the bus. Fucked is putting it mildly. "How long 'til we stop?"

He hears the low murmuring of someone – Adam, most likely – talking to the driver. He's proven right when Adam, coming into the room, says, "Somewhere about two hours away. Hot showers and drive-thru, coming up shortly."

Tommy wrinkles his nose. "Guess I can last that long."

Adam sits on the edge of the bed, facing the big ass mirror on the wall. Sighing, he starts taking off the last of the make-up. "I'm gonna get this done now tho'. You wanna grab a bag for us?"

Tommy nods and starts packing a black bag with sleep pants and tees, a change of lazy day clothes, and, since Adam has an early interview, denims and a black shirt. Then he crawls onto the bed behind Adam, watching as the remaining make-up and glitter fall away and reveal freckles and pale skin. He enjoys watching this happen. The same way he enjoys watching it get put on.

"What?"

"Uh, nothing," Tommy stammers. "Just watching."

"It's not that interesting." Adam tosses the used cleaning pads into the garbage.

"Really, it is. Like you're taking off the mask that you show that world out there." Tommy blushes and drops his gaze away from Adam. Jesus, fuck. "And that was fucking cheesy as hell."

"Not really," Adam says, standing up and stretching. "Pretty damn close to true actually."

Tommy jerks his head up. "Huh?"

"Come on, pretty." Adam shakes his head and chuckles, holding out a hand for Tommy. "Let's go make nice with the others."

* * *

  
Tommy is ensconced in his usual spot – the floor between Adam's legs – and reaching for his third beer when Adam leans forward and whispers, "Enough for tonight, Tommy Joe."

His first instinct is to tell Adam to fuck off, that he really is of legal age to drink, and that three beers in almost two hours is fucking nothing, and besides, what else is there to do on a bus headed to a hotel? And then – with Adam's fingers flat against the back of his neck and his brain screaming _listen, listen, listen_ – Tommy redirects and grabs a bottle of water instead.

A blush steals over his cheeks when Adam, fingers tightening slightly against Tommy's neck, says _good boy_ loud enough for everyone to hear.

* * *

  
Tommy drops to his knees beside the bed and digs through the bag. Digs because he put their sleep pants on the bottom of the bag. And the towel? Not exactly enough since Adam dropped the a/c to subarctic two seconds after they checked in.

"Way to go, Ratliff," he mutters, the sound of Adam moving around in the bathroom a background noise to his chattering teeth. "My fucking balls are gonna freeze off."

"Now that would be a shame," Adam calls from the bathroom. "Just dump it all out on..." The words drop off and then, a full octave lower, Adam says, "Fucking hell, Tommy Joe."

Tommy sits back on his haunches and, head tilted back, looks at Adam. And he blushes to his roots.

Adam looks predatory. _Is_ predatory. Tommy doesn't know if he should roll onto his back and beg or run like hell. He's leaning heavy towards the begging.

"Adam..."

"Hush. Stay right there and just... _fuck_ , just hush." Adam goes first to the thermostat, poking at the buttons until Tommy hears the fan shut off, and then straight to Tommy, kicking the bag to the side and dropping down, wet towel and all, onto the bed. "Do you even realize how fucking..."

Adam reaches out and drags a hand through Tommy's hair, twisting his fingers in the roots and tilting Tommy's head back, hard and fast.

"This... you, Tommy Joe, are perfect. On your fucking knees... so damned pretty and perfect and just waiting for me to fuck it all up."

Everything, _everything_ else skitters out of Tommy's reach. He's suddenly a hot mess of conflicting emotions. Excitement and anxiousness and desire and a hint of fear and overwhelming _want_ jumble together and all he wants is to make sense out of the confusion of what feels right and what he thinks is right.

And then it doesn't really matter anymore. Because this is Adam and it's been Adam with him every step of the way. And he'll be there every step after this. Sighing, Tommy leans into the tight hold and moans.

"That's it, pretty. Just let it go."

Adam tightens his fingers more and a stinging pain blossoms and then, when Tommy relaxes even more, fades into something a fuck of a lot more interesting. It's arousal. It's definitely arousal. But it's also freedom. Here he can be a needy, wanton thing and it is perfectly all right. Because he can trust Adam to see him through it.

"Oh, yes," Adam murmurs. "This is what we've been waiting for."

Finally, _finally_ all of the waiting makes sense to Tommy. Even with all the changes, and all the words, Tommy was still holding back. Keeping that last piece tight in his grip, like a security blanket. And now, now that he finally let it go, finally put the truth into the words of trusting Adam completely, the weight bearing down on him breaks and falls away.

"Adam..."

"Right here, pretty." Adam releases the tight hold and starts petting, running his fingers along Tommy's scalp, scratching and massaging as he talks. "So pretty, Tommy Joe. Such a good boy, working so fucking hard to just let go. So worth the waiting, baby..."

Tommy pushes into the touch, cheeks coloring with a blush even as the burst of pride fills his chest. But he still wants... no, he _needs_ Adam. Needs him to hold him and fuck him and claim him. Needs Adam to put just as much action behind the words as he has. "Adam, please."

"Oh, yes, pretty."

Then Adam is pulling Tommy to his feet and into his lap and their teeth are clashing together and Adam is turning and pushing Tommy down on the bed. Tommy's lungs are screaming because, _goddamn_ , Adam is relentless and is devouring Tommy, licking and biting and tasting. And then Tommy is arching beneath – _into_ – Adam and he's keening and whimpering and begging because he just needs Adam to fuck him right the fuck now.

Adam is obviously on the same page and he's stripping their towels and pushing them onto the floor and flipping Tommy over and growling _don't move_ into Tommy's ear.

Then Adam spreads Tommy's legs, uses his hands to hold Tommy's ass cheeks apart and he licks, fucking _licks_ his way into Tommy's ass. It's wet and sloppy and filthy and so fucking dirty but so goddamned good and Tommy doesn't know if he should pull away or push back into it and in the end it won't really matter because if Adam doesn't hurry the fuck up Tommy is so going to shoot his load like some uncontrollable teenager getting his cherry popped.

"No, no, no," Tommy groans. Because not like this. He wants Adam in him, just as deep and penetrating physically as he is emotionally. Tommy _needs_ it.

Adam pulls back – and even if it is what he wanted, Tommy whines at the loss – and says, "Shush, pretty."

And Adam is using one hand to guide Tommy to his back, and then push his arms up and his hands to the mattress edge, and whispering for Tommy to keep them there and that they really need a set of cuffs and a fucking chain, but Tommy is so good, doing so well, that Adam knows he won't move them; and Adam's other hand is rifling through the bag, and suddenly there are condoms and lube and Tommy wants to shout – _Jesus, fuck, yes_ – but Adam is slipping a cold, lube covered finger into him and his ability to talk – to fucking _think_ – is swallowed by the hot press of Adam, right here and right now.

Tommy pushes his head further back into mattress and lets his legs fall wide. He feels more exposed, more naked than he's ever felt. It's all out there for Adam's taking: every thought, every emotion. Wants, needs, fears. Everything. Nothing is left out.

"That's it, baby. Give it all up to me," Adam whispers, lips resting against Tommy's thigh. "So fucking pretty."

Adam starts working a second finger into Tommy, a slow invasion of push forward and then retreat. Of pulling back and starting over until Tommy adjusts and relaxes and accepts. "Open up and let me in."

"Adam, _fuck_..." Tommy hisses through the burn of three and then four fingers. " _Fuck._ "

And then the burn gets lost in the rush of _yes_ and _more_ and Tommy rolls his hips, experimenting and testing and feeling, and, _holy Christ_ , yes, right there.

"That's it," Adam encourages when Tommy grinds back and fucks himself down on Adam's fingers. "Damn, Tommy Joe. Such a good boy."

Then Adam is reaching and moving and sliding his fingers out of Tommy's ass. But before Tommy can connect his brain to his vocal chords, before he can really even form the complaint, Adam is pushing Tommy's legs up and back – stretching muscles Tommy didn't even know he had – and then the blunt head of Adam's cock is tight against his hole and...

"Yeah," Tommy whispers. His fingers are curling around the mattress edge and Adam is calling him _my boy_ and _pretty_ and telling Tommy how good he is, how well he's doing and... just, _yeah_.

And then, Tommy drinks in a great gulp of air and finally, truly, simply _breathes_ again.

* ♥ *


End file.
